


Parch

by Legendaerie



Category: Free!
Genre: Arabian AU, Gen, Rinharu Week 2014, not super shippy, water as a critique on communisim?, water as a sexual metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2644751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendaerie/pseuds/Legendaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A map-maker, a Prince, and a contest of sorts. Quench your thirst and swallow your pride; three chances to capture the soul of a stranger with charcoal, in exchange for water and freedom.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"He wasn't always this way, though."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Parch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pennyofthewild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennyofthewild/gifts).



> Day 1 - Arabian AU + "a sea of light that spreads endlessly" prompts used. (technically, I started this fic in the summer but... whatever. Finally finished it, polished it, etc.)
> 
> For Penny, because I OWE HER A BIGGER BETTER FIC ONE DAY IM SORRY. i'm so sorry. I just tripped and fell out of the free!dom.

The sand before him glitters with the rising sun, a sea of light that spreads endlessly from horizon to horizon save for a small smudge in the distance. The traveler has gone for so long without a proper drink that, at first, he believes it to be a mirage. But the notes he collected from the last town suggest that it's real, so he tucks the paper back into the packs on his camel, and leads the heavy-footed steed in that direction.

It's a fairly populated city, all things considered. The gates open before him with little fuss, he is questioned briefly about where he's from and why he's here, but a gold coin pressed in the hands of the noisy, orange-haired man both ceases the flow of words and boards his camel for the day. Thus unburdened, the traveler wanders.

He approaches members of the walled city one by one but each response he gets is the same; that they only have enough water to last them through the day, and they cannot spare him any.

The merchant is the first one he speaks to; his regret is palpable, and the traveler believes that if he had even a drop to spare he would give it anyway. Or offer his tears as compensation. Eyes the color of delicate young leaves are glassy with sorrow and it takes him aback.

"But the Prince can offer you water! Just go to the Palace and ask him."

The traveler is impatient, feet sore in his sandals, so he stops once more when he gets a little deeper into the city. There's a dancer stationed outside the door who gives him a feisty grin, hand on narrow hip and hair the shade of wheat; but he offers the same answer when asked.

"The Palace isn't far from here, see, see?" And he points with such enthusiasm the traveler wonders if the man is even old enough to be offering such entertainments to others. "You just have to prove yourself worthy of the water!"

Reluctant to deal with royalty, the traveler tries, one last time, on the steps of the Palace. But even the guard, tall and almost as bronzed as the traveler himself is, lacks a surplus.

"The Prince will not begrudge anyone who is willing to earn his water. You should be able to have his audience at this time of day." He resumes his station, long gun beside him only adding to the intimidating look; yet the traveler feels no real fear and does not hesitate to turn his back on the guard and enter the Palace itself.

A long hall awaits him, and stretches long and uncomfortable as a silence between the door and the throne. The Prince, clad in dark robes and with hair the color of rubies, smiles cruelly when the traveler enters.  He approaches anyway, until he can make out the gleam of gold jewelry and the glitter of wine-red eyes. His teeth are knifes, but the traveler gets the impression that perhaps his words would cut deeper than any weapon.  

"Ah, outsider, you must have come a long way to be at my kingdom. Have you enjoyed the sight of the city so far?"

Fragile, useless baubles of conversation. They decorate the air between with with all the luxury of a man who has everything he wants. The traveler swallows a mouth gone sticky with dehydration, and bows.

"Esteemed Prince, I am Haruka Nanase the map maker. I have traveled many miles in order to chart this desert, but my rations have run low. Please permit me to drink from your water reserves, rest my camel and refill my supplies."

"And in return?"

Haruka reaches for the bag of coins at his waist, but the Prince cuts him off with a laugh. The traveler raises his blue eyes from the floor, stares across the expanse of the hall, and catches the Prince's expression.

Not unkind, but nearly.

"No, no, not with currency. What can you do," and he inclines in his seat, holds a hand out to the side - seconds later, it is filled with a goblet. Haruka can smell the water from here, but he doesn't so much as flinch as the Prince takes a deep drink. "For a drink of my water?"

His confusion must show on his face, because the Prince snorts. "You see, Nanase," and he lets the last bit splatter to the stone floor as he offers the goblet, rim down, to the guard at his elbow. "Out here, I am the Prince. I am the people, and I am their water. I tend to their every need, but they also must earn me. So. Prove yourself worthy."

"How?" Haruka's eyes linger on the stain of water on the ground; by the time he looks up, he can tell the Prince has been watching him with great interest. He's leaning forward again, smirking.

"Any way you like." His gaze rakes down Haruka's body; a tangible weight and force behind it, like a sudden dry gust of wind. "I have my own ideas, but..."

"Do you have paper?"

The Prince's expression flickers with bemusement. For the first time in their encounter, he emotes something other than smug confidence. "Yes, of course."

"And something to draw with? A stick of charcoal, perhaps?" 

The Prince glances to one of his attendants, a young man with hair silver as the moon. He skitters off presently, and the Prince turns back to Haruka.

"Ah, you're going to draw something for me? Choose your subject well, Nanase. It will take much to truly impress me."

The objects are presented to Haruka shortly - he sweeps his hands across the stone floor, clearing it of dirt as best he can, then presses the paper to the floor and begins. Smooth, arcing movements - he can see the image clearly in his mind, despite having never seen the real thing with his own eyes, and that's all he needs.

Footsteps ring out, muffled by the roar of his thoughts as Haruka presses a little harder, darkens in the correct contours. He doesn't look up, only leans forward more when he sense the presence get a little too close, and is rewarded by a bark of laughter. But he doesn't stop until the image is finished.

He spins it around on the floor so that the Prince, only a pace or two away, can see it. The Prince's expression is almost disappointed, and he makes a disdainful sound with his tongue.

"What is it?"

"Have you heard the stories, Prince?" Haruka keeps his eyes on the paper. "That once the world was a vast ocean of water that stretched further than the eye could see and deeper than could be fathomed? That even this desert could have once been as such?"

"Of course," the Prince snaps; eyes flashing deep red fire as he glares at Haruka. "So is that what you drew? Some massive beast of the water?"

"I drew a shark; one of the most feared predators of the ocean." And Haruka taps at the head of the long, sleek shape - where triangular teeth could be spotted. "I drew you."

The Prince knelt to the ground, which Haruka wasn't expecting - he flinched, half-expecting a foot on his spine to force him lower. But the rest of the room just swishes with movement as they bow, and the Prince doesn't even glance their way.

"You got the teeth right, at least. But I don't feel like it's a truly accurate picture of me, Nanase."

He holds his hand out - once again, it is filled with a goblet, but this time the Prince holds it out to Haruka. The traveler reaches out to take the cup, but the Prince doesn't let go. Instead, the pale hand tips the goblet to Haruka's lips and lets him drink.

He's more patient then Haruka would have expected him to be - he doesn't go so fast as to make Haruka splutter and choke and splatter water on the drawing of the shark. He even tilts it high enough for every drop to slide between Haruka's eager lips. But when he pulls it away and stands, his smirk is vicious again.

"That is suitable payment for your drawing. Tend to your camel; leave, even, if you wish. But if you want more water for your journey, come back to my palace this afternoon."

Haruka's eyes burn with blue fire, but the Prince is already walking away and both men know who has won.

 

* * *

 

He finds himself back at the establishment of the blond dancer from before; Haruka sits at the table in the front row of the empty restaurant, silently eating some roasted meat on skewers. On stage, the dancer is leisurely stretching, as if he can't stand to be still. His mouth burbles a continuous stream of words, and Haruka lets them run through his mind. Catches only the words that he wants to hear.

"Kinda _odd_ of Rin to be so stingy with the water, but still invite you back," the dancer remarks - knees on the floor, he arches his back in such a way that his stomach stretches out like pale silk. "Usually you get one shot and then he's done with you."

"Is that the Prince's name?"

"What, Rin? Yeah. Prince Rin, unwedded heir to the throne," he dictates, voice dropping in key - perhaps to imitate his ruler - and a little smirk as he curls back into a more normal position. "And a secret sap. We used to be really good friends, you know? Back when the King was still alive."

Haruka doesn't speak, but he watches the dancer limber up out of the corner of his eye.

"Then the Queen went back home to her parents, and his sister got married off, and these days he's all..." Puffing up his cheeks, the dancer assumes an expression of haughty disdain that makes Haruka marvel it's not considered some kind of treason. "It's kind of a shame, yeah?"

Then he rambles some more, and as Haruka silently leaves his coins on the table, the little dancer bounces after him.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"Back to the palace. Thanks for the food."

He stands and exits, brushing around the door curtains with the back of his hand and narrowing his eyes in the dazzling sunlight.

 

* * *

 

"Ah, I was about to send Rei to fetch you." The Prince is in his courtyard this time, when Haruka is escorted to his presence by a tall, broad-shouldered man with fiery hair and golden eyes. A bird perched in the lone acacia tree takes flight and vanishes - the Prince's head tilts back as he watches it ascend. "Back for another attempt, perhaps?"

The silver-haired attendant appears again and scoots gently past Haruka with a muttered phrase of apology. His arms are burdened with papers and drawing tools once more, but the Prince ushers them all back inside into the main hall.

Haruka's considered, of course, just leaving and abandoning this city to a poorly sketched patch on his map. He could probably make it to the next city without being too poorly off, but by this point in time he just wants to beat the Prince at this game for the sake of winning. So, once more, he tries his hand. Once more, Haruka falls to his knees and draws.

But this time, it's a straightforward portrait of the Prince. His teeth are still sharp as they were in the previous image as the Prince grins back at the viewer, his eyes somehow staring back no matter what angle the portrait is viewed from. The Prince paces back and forth to test this theory as the silver-haired attendant holds the image up for inspection. Haruka stays on his knees, but he dares to sit up and watch the Prince's reaction.

He concedes something unspoken with a snort and a tilt of his head. "At least you've proved you can draw things that _exist_." Haruka's shoulders relax. "But. So can many, many others. You disappoint me."

The Prince waves his hand. Haruka's too stunned to protest as he's gripped by his upper arm and pulled away. But in the doorway, his heels dig into the marble and he spin around. Blue eyes burn like fire, scorching the air all the way across the hallway. Dark robes swish as the Prince turns back and meets Haruka's gaze.

"I _need_ that water," Haruka speaks, his voice low. It resonates in the silent hall. The Prince gives him another one of those long, studying looks, but he's not smiling this time.

"... One last chance. Tonight. Take your time deciding what to draw. Nitori, see that Haruka's camel at least gets tended."

The silver-haired attendant vanished again, but Haruka holds his ground still. The Prince slumps in his throne as if he's forgotten he's not alone, and something soft and gentle bleeds in the edges of his figure. Pale skin glows white against the black robes, and his hair falls across his face like a wound.

"Go," the Prince barks, and Haruka lets the guard lead him away.

 

* * *

 

He buys some paper and charcoal of his own during his wanderings, and takes a seat across the street from the green-eyed merchant. The man who runs the stall is sweet but easily startled, tall and a little absurd for it all. Haruka draws him as a horse in the margins of a bigger image, a flash image of the man giving a woman a pot after she presented him with a broken one. The vendor's smile lingers for a long time, even after the woman leaves. It's the easiest part of him to draw.

Late afternoon, the vendor closes the window of his shop. Haruka sighs and resigns himself to tweaking what he'd finished of the image, already forgetting the patterns to the jars. But then, a shadow falls across him.

It's the vendor, and his smile is even better close up.

"Mind if I take this seat?"

Haruka nods when the vendor touches the back of the seat opposite. His new companion rests his chin in one hand, eyes tender, and studies the mapmaker. "My name's Makoto. It's nice to meet you again..."

"Haruka."

"Haruka," Makoto repeats, and smiles. Again. "Are you enjoying our city?"

Haruka recalls the Prince's declaration of his unity with his land, his water, and his people. He doesn't bother to hold back a snort. The Prince himself is _far_ from enjoyable. Makoto's face falls.

"What's wrong?"

"I asked your Prince for water, and he refused me. Twice, actually," he adds, when the vendor's eyes go wide. He explains more of the situation and watches those green eyes cloud over and drop with memory.

Makoto inspects his sandal. "Our Prince, he can be a little... harsh sometimes. He wasn't always this way, though."

"I've heard."

His cheeks color and he offers a smile as apology. "He used to leave his palace more often, but these days he just makes sure that the water's being rationed correctly. There's enough for everyone, of course, and he makes sure that none's wasted. But, he... he has to judge exactly how much water someone receives."

Haruka doesn't interrupt him, not even when Makoto takes a carefully rationed sip from the flask at his waist. He's offered a capful and takes it without bothering to mask his eagerness, but the coin he offers in return is ignored.

"And he used to offer everyone more, but Rei - he works in the palace, and he says that not even the Prince is drinking enough water. That he's--"

Makoto blushes even more and claps his mouth shut, guilty to be caught talking poorly about his ruler. But Haruka doesn't press him any more. Instead, he selects a new page and begins to sketch a tree.

 

* * *

 

Haruka wonders if he should feel nervous. It is his last shot at enough water to travel by, after all. If not, he's been informed that he'll be thrown out of the city and pointed in the direction of the next city over. The inside of his mouth feels sticky again, and the guard who fetches him this time - the one with the glasses - manages to sneak him a covert sip from his canteen before Haruka enters the hall for the last time.

There's no smile to greet him this time.  The Prince's expression is bitter as attendants bring out a basin of water. He scoops up cup after cup of the clear fluid, pours it back each time and never takes as much as a sip. If it's a show to demoralize Haruka, it has the opposite effect.

There's a vast array of tools brought before him this time - charcoals, vellum, paper, a brush and inkstone. But Haruka already knows what to draw this time.

The Prince doesn't even deign to watch Haruka as he sketches the form with care. He's working from a mental image this time, based half off a scene he'd spotted in the village and half from his own imagination. Twice he has to rub away marks and start afresh, but at last he is finished. His muscles ache when he sets aside his charcoal.

The attendant that raises Haruka's art does so with nearly trembling hands. Raising the cup from the basin again, water dripping down his painted fingernails, the Prince studies the art. Wine-red eyes scan the work, and slowly his expression slides from resignation to shock to rage.

He flings the cup of water at Haruka. Water flashes in midair, and the metal cup hits the floor with a musical sound and bounces, dented, to roll into a corner. Haruka doesn't flinch, not even when the Prince himself comes at the mapmaker with all the sudden fury of a desert storm.

"What," and his finger snaps to the image, "is _this_?"

"It's you."

The Prince's hand trembles, and Haruka breaks their locked gaze to study his own work. A young boy, clad in princely attire, offers both a wide, toothy grin and a cup to a bird that's perched on the ground nearby. He hates to speak and prefers his work to do the talking for him, but the absolute silence of the court is a hard opportunity to miss.

Even so, his words are so soft the Prince is the only one who could hear him.

"First, when I drew you, I drew what I _thought_ of you." He thinks of the shark, of the predator totally at home in its own domain. "Then, I drew what I _saw_ of you." Sharp eyes that followed him everywhere, coloring his every interaction and getting under his skin at every turn. "But that is how your _people_ see you."

The Prince's hand lowers, forming slowly into a fist. Haruka swallows nothing and meets those burning eyes once more. And in their depths he, too, sees the kind-hearted Prince the others spoke of, who would give his own share of water to a bird just to see if he could draw it nearer to him.

When the silver-haired attendant approaches the Prince with the dented cup, the spell seems to break. The Prince's hand relaxes, and he takes a step away from Haruka.

"Fetch our guest all the water he asks for," the Prince mutters, then storms out of the hall in a billow of clothing. Haruka sits stock-still as people flock and flurry around him, and he doesn't move until a wet goblet is pressed to his lips. Then he drinks until he's nearly sick of it, and still he thirsts.

 

* * *

 

On his way out of the palace, flask of water heavy at his hip and bearing decrees for the water containers on his camel to be replenished as well, Haruka spots a shadow by the wall. The guards have left him to his own devices, so he's free to approach the figure.

His clothes are different, and his hair turns purple in the moonlight, but it is indeed the Prince. Haruka's breath catches.

"Heading out so late?"

"It's better to travel at night," Haruka counters, acutely aware of how the Prince's eyes dance over his body. "Do you mean to stop me?"

The faintest glimmer of teeth glints at that remark. "You cut right to the point, don't you? Well," the Prince stalls, "not exactly. You want to map these lands, right?"

Haruka doesn't respond. He's used enough words this evening, and he trusts the Prince to understand.

He doesn't, however, expect the Prince to step forward and grab Haruka's hand. Sparks flare under his skin, but the Prince simply pulls off a wide golden ring from his own finger and slides it onto Haruka's. The gold is warm against his flesh, and the heat lingers even when the Prince steps away.

"If you go to the next city, show that at the Gates and tell the King Sousuke that Rin sends him and Gou my regards. And to show you all the best his city has to offer." There's humor, of all things, glittering behind those ruby eyes. "Sousuke can be a bit of a pain on a bad day. My crest should help you."

Haruka stares at the interlocking arrows stamped into the wide gold band. The Prince's own seal, now decorating the mapmaker's own hand. It feels heavy to hold. But before he can protest, the Prince is already heading back towards the palace, his pale skin lost in waves and waves of plain dark clothes.

"I'll return this to you, one day."

The Prince flashes a smirk over his shoulder. "I look forward to your return, then." And there's something in his smile that leads Haruka to believe that he means that he'll miss more than just the ring.

 

* * *

 

The sand before him glitters with the rising sun, a sea of light that spreads endlessly from horizon to horizon save for a small smudge in the distance. The walled city fades, slowly, behind him, melting into the molten gold. But as Haruka watches a bird soar far above him, and twists the ring on his finger, he knows that he will return.

 


End file.
